


Here, Have it All

by izzyb



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-04
Updated: 2009-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:59:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyb/pseuds/izzyb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy likes to wallow in his self-loathing, but Christine has had enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here, Have it All

**Author's Note:**

> And you could have it all,  
> My empire of dirt,  
> And I will make you suffer,  
> I will make you hurt.

There were times when he wondered if he could forget it all, make the past the past, something he did not need to remember to shape his future. He woke up each morning to the gradual lightening of his quarters and thought that today was a new day, a day to begin fresh, even if it was artificial light that made him wake and not the bright dawn of home. The forced optimism would last through the adequate sonic shower (how he missed real water) and a shave of his morning stubble and even through the weak coffee the mess hall managed to brew before he headed to sickbay—_his_ sickbay, goddammit.

And then he would be hit by the utter helplessness of remaining calm while hurtling through space in a tin can, committing himself to curing alien illnesses, sexually transmitted infections, and the odd common cold. All the while, he had to attempt to be civil to both medical staff and injured crew members, proving to Jim and the odd spy for Starfleet that he deserved his position as CMO.

Both his life and career were built on a series of lies, the main one being that he was capable of making a difference. So when someone broke down that wall of self-loathing, he was obviously surprised. It came quickly without even a warning.

"It's done," she said calmly.

"Huh?" He raised his head from his PADD, pausing in his documentation of the casualties from the last unfriendly planet debacle—only two this time. Chapel stood in the doorway of his office, using her presence to prevent the door from sliding closed.

"I am done, I should say." Her good hand trembled as she lifted it and braced it against the entryway.

"Why would you say that?" He was distracted still so didn't take in the details he should have after treating her for the arm injury. Jim had insisted that a member of his medical staff accompany them and McCoy had idly mentioned Christine's lack of field experience and so the good captain had taken her with him and brought her back broken. If he could drag his mind away from the death reports, shit, two of them, he would notice that her eyes were red and her face set in the plain lines of a woman determined.

She did not say more until he raised his eyes to hers and he realized that while she had been crying, she looked downright pissed. "I am done with your act, Dr. McCoy."

Okay, now he was just confused. "My act?"

"Yes, sir, your act." She rolled her eyes at his raised eyebrows and continued. "You think you are the only one who has felt pain? There are people on this ship, doctor, who have almost died, who have lost loved ones. Who have left family and friends back home without being able to promise them that they will return alive."

His was stone-faced still, unable to show the emotion she evidently wanted. "Your point?"

"All of us could be as angry as you." She stepped into the room further, growing emboldened in her speech. "But you know what the difference is, McCoy?"

"Doctor McCoy," he intoned tiredly, wondering how such a slight woman could still contain that much passion after two years on The Enterprise. "What is the difference?" He didn't want to ask, but knew she would tell him anyway.

"They have one another. They have a family aboard this ship, made so by necessity. You, you—" She paused, placing her hands on his desk and leaning closer, choosing her words carefully and saying them deliberately. "You close yourself off from us, pretend that you are unaffected. I know better."

"How? How do you know?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"You care too much. That is the whole reason you are in here while we grieve out there. Join us, Leonard. Join us for once."

"What can I bring, Christine? There is nothing of worth here." He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "You ask much of me, wanting all, but do not realize that there is nothing here to give."

She grabbed his hand in hers, pulling him to his feet. "Maybe it is time we gave something back to you." She dragged him out into the sickbay and into a small party of blue-shirted medical staff, sitting on biobeds and passing around a bottle of what looked like Scotty's not-so-private stash.

"What—this isn't regulation! We could—"

"We could remember the dead. We could also remember those we saved. How often do you think of those you saved?"

He shook his head, ready to order them all out so that he could finish his paperwork, dammit. But when he opened his mouth to yell, he realized they were all looking at him. Their eyes were red like Chapel's, their faces resigned to his inevitable orders to clear out. Exasperated, he did what he had to and grabbed the bottle from a junior officer's hand, pouring himself a glass when Christine placed one in his free hand and raised it in the air.

"Here's to Evans—the fine young officer we saved tonight. May she have many more successful missions without the need of our healing hands."

They drank in silence, in almost a sense of relief, and McCoy could feel a chink in his armor from both the lightened mood and the bright smile that Christine gave him when he took a seat next to her on the floor, not ready to let go of his cynicism, but willing to open up enough to some of the hurt flow out. God help them all.


End file.
